


Something to Fight For

by FlyingwithRavens



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Mild Gore, Mild Smut, Multi, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-09 15:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11107812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingwithRavens/pseuds/FlyingwithRavens
Summary: After Katniss Everdeen wins the 73rd Hunger Games, she's sure she'll never have to endure that kind of pain again. But when her lover, Peeta Mellark, is thrown into the 76th games, she'll do anything to bring him home alive. She doesn't know how she'll go on if she can't. Everlark. AU where Katniss and Peeta fall in love without the Games.





	1. The Prologue

The Seventy-Third Hunger Games

“Tell me Katniss Everdeen of District Twelve, is there anyone special back home you’re fighting for?” 

A long moment passed between the scrawny fifteen year old tribute and Caesar Flickerman- who watched with masked pity as deliberation smothered her features. She chewed her lip thoughtfully, and the dead air hung between them in a growing gap that would be sure to leave many eager Capital citizens restless. 

“Yes, there is.” She answered carefully, though Caesar could see the words hanging on the tip of her tongue. All it would take was a little more prodding, and he’d have done his duty before time was up. “My little sister Prim. I need to make it back for her.” 

Just a little bit more. “But I take it that’s not who you’re thinking about.” He hinted, and her grey Seam eyes flicked up to meet his briefly, before they fell away in the direction of the audience. I’m trying to help you, he thought, watching impatiently- this moment could make or break you in the arena. 

“No, she wasn’t. I was talking about my boyfriend. He’s a wonderful person, and I care about him more than you can imagine. He made me promise to fight; promise to come home to him. ” She forced it out with such conviction that Caesar’s perfectly groomed interview face nearly fell away in the midst of his shock. Her time on stage was drawing to a close, and he managed to compose himself. 

Shouts of encouragement had rolled across the crowd, and he knew undoubtedly that Katniss Everdeen was sure to be a favorite this year. All the odds were turned in her favor- the eleven in training had turned more heads than her fiery entrance at opening ceremonies. And now this. 

“Will you fight?” He asked, and in that moment he could feel the tension seeping off of her, but beneath it was a grim determination and love.

“Until my very last breath.” 

Cries rose up from the audience until it became a small feat to sort through your own thoughts. There was barely time for him to ask, “What is this special boy’s name?”  
The buzzer blared just as she uttered out, “Peeta. Peeta Mellark.” And then she was gone, her dress a fiery trail behind her. In the audience, Caesar almost swore he saw Haymitch raising his drink to her. 

Backstage, Katniss Everdeen breathed a welcome sigh of relief before her prep team descended on her. They squabbled and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly because it was just so heartbreaking. She forced a smile, but truth be told, she knew they would never understand.  
Peeta had saved her life, Prim’s life, her mother’s life. And while Prim was at the top of her priorities, he was there too. Because without Peeta, whom she was sure she could love forever if life would let her, neither of the formerly mentioned people would be there at all. 

And that was something that she could never repay, though until a few days ago she had been sure she would have the rest of her life to try. Even Gale, her best friend, who carried himself around in a fit of barely contained rage for a week after she told him of her relationship with Peeta, could see how much they cared for each other.  
Her heart ached for them, all of them, but as Haymitch approached she reminded herself to stay strong. For them, if not for herself. “Well, I didn’t think you would pull it off, but you did. So, I say congratulations and I raise my drink to you.” And he did, taking a long swig from the flask attached to his belt by a long silver chain before sealing it shut once more.  
Effie tittered disapprovingly, taking Katniss by the arm and leading her towards the elevators. “Come, come dear, and ignore Haymitch’s nonsense. We must head upstairs to watch Flint’s interview from the penthouse. It’s so dank down here and it reeks of liquor.” She stared pointedly at Haymitch, who belched noisily in response. Katniss’s nose wrinkled and Effie cried out haughtily as she whisked them both away with the prep team in tow. 

In their compartment Katniss watched her district partner, Flint, on the screen with little interest. He was sixteen, and had received a four in training, but kept to himself which suited her just fine. If only she had known.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Fourteen days, thirteen hours, and thirty seven minutes into the games. There were only two competitors left, and Katniss stared Flint down- grey on grey. His fingers twisted nervously on the handle of his sword, and though she would never admit it, hers spasm-ed slightly against her bow. 

“So we meet again.” He snarled, though Katniss said nothing in response. Instead, she took a step forward. His instincts kicked in almost immediately, and he stepped back. For hours Katniss kept her bow raised and her mouth shut, going against nearly every fiber of her being. 

He never charged her though, oblivious as she slowly inched him backwards. Too frightened to make the first move, not when he’d seen her shoot, he could do nothing but wait for her. The arrow was pointed at his head, yet he couldn’t understand why she didn’t shoot. 

Maybe she knew, he thought, knew that he would deflect her last arrow as easily as he had all the other ones. And he was right. Katniss knew he would knock her last defense out of the way, which would leave her unarmed and at the mercy of his large steel sword. 

But she had a plan, and he was almost there. A large pond lay behind them- but this was no ordinary pond. Many had fallen subject to it during the past two weeks, and she had calmly observed it all from her tree camp not too far away. It had no gradual drop off and no bottom in sight. The water was ice cold, bone freezing. If you couldn’t swim, then you would be dead within the minute. And no one from District Twelve, who had never left the confines of the district, could swim. 

Just one more step. Katniss took one last step forward, and Flint unthinkingly jumped a few paces back- straight into the paralyzing, deep, un-survivable water.  
She dropped her bow as he fell, a scream barely leaving his lips, and sank deeper into the water. Running the edge she watched as he descended deeper still, until the blackness had swallowed him whole and the water seemed empty once more. 

It seemed as though hours had passed, though it couldn’t have been more than two or three minutes, before his cannon rang out. And suddenly, Claudius Templesmith’s voice was everywhere, booming out over the vast arena so forcefully that she felt the need to shelter her ears, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Katniss Everdeen of District Twelve- victor of the seventy-third Hunger Games!” 

I did it for you, Peeta, she thought. And then she blacked out.


	2. The Unthinkable

 

_Year of the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games_

I rise before the sun, pleased to find that I have slept soundly through the night- a welcome change from the previous week, which has been riddled with terrifying illusions of the mind. Every night I watch them die- Peeta, Prim, Gale, my mother, the Hawthornes, and even Peeta’s family. Well, except for his mother. Hard as I try, I’ve found no redeeming qualities in her- even after five years of searching.

It was mostly for Peeta’s benefit, though I doubt he cared deeply about his mother’s feelings anyway. After I won the games things got better between her and I, as I was no longer seem trash. Now, she tolerates me and I tolerate her, which is a great improvement from the days when she would chase me out the back door with a rolling pin.

It nearly killed Peeta, but nothing like that has happened since the day I was reaped. Still, that doesn’t mean I don’t prefer it when she’s out of the house running errands anyway.

I dress for the day, ignoring the shudders than run down my back when I remember exactly what day it really is. Reaping Day. There’s no point in dwelling on it, not when it’ll be the same thing it’s been for the past three years.

I’m going to the Capital no matter what. That’s one of the perks of being the only female mentor in the district- I get to make the trip every year. However, it does give me a chance to catch up with Finnick and Johanna, who I miss dearly during the off season.

Peeta’s been hearing stories about them for years, and I can tell he’s itching to meet them. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Katniss. Besides, they sound like great people.” I’m always worried that if a chance for seeing them ever does arise, he’ll be scared away. They have certain… habits that may not seem normal. Especially how comfortable they are with nudity. I’ve never met two people more content to strip.

Last year I ventured down to the District Seven floor only to find myself in the midst of a game of strip poker including Finnick, Johanna, Gloss, Cashmere, Esmeralda from District Five, and- most hauntingly –Haymitch. I was out of there faster than Finnick can take his pants off, which we’ve discovered- after timing it on more than one occasion with Brutus- is under five seconds.

Finnick says he’s never seen someone turn red so fast, but I doubt he really got a good look at me, considering how fast my exit was. Johanna says it was my shame at not being as gorgeous as them that sent me running.

I stand in front of the mirror and begin to re-braid my hair into a single braid. I leave it in two when I sleep, for Peeta’s always loved me in that look and during the nights he stay over he always tells me so.

“Katniss?” Prim stands in the door way, still wearing the cotton nightgown she went to bed. Her hair tumbles down her back, and her eyes are thick and heavy with sleep. Still, at fourteen, she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She’s inherited my mother’s looks and my father’s kind nature. I inherited my mother’s attitude- which Haymitch often tells me needs rectifying.

“What is it, Little Duck?” I say, using her childhood nickname absentmindedly. She rolls her eyes at me, something that never fails to remind me that she’s no longer a tiny little girl in need of an alert mother. She’s become a teenager through and through, and while she’s still just as sweet and pleasant, it tugs at my heartstrings.

Of course the moment I remember that she still lets Gale call her that, even in front of her school friends, a scowl forms on my face. She would never roll her eyes at him, not even jokingly, for the only emotions she’s able to muster up for him are love and sympathy- especially with the way he works himself to the bone in the mines.

Even so, Prim becoming a teenager is something I have to except. She’s even begun to take interest in boys, harboring a crush for none other than Rory Hawthorne. When I told Gale he said Rory was completely oblivious, and I didn’t have the heart to give the message to Prim. I started dating Peeta when I was fourteen, and I remember just how scared I was of rejection, despite already knowing his sentiments towards me. I’d never toy with something as fragile as a teenage girl’s heart, especially my dearest sister Prim’s. She’s had a heard enough time being accepted as it is, what with being the almost reclusive Katniss Everdeen’s sister.

“I heard you get up and got worried. Where are you going?” She looks at me with such love and concern that I nearly run over to hug her. Prim’s always been more selfless than I have, daring to worry about someone completely safe on reaping day, even with her own name in the polls.

“First I’m going to head to the bakery and see Peeta, and then I’m hunting with Gale. He’s got reaping day off and they could use the extra game. Besides, I need a squirrel to trade for shoelaces at the Hob.”

Prim nods, and she knows better than to question my trades at the Hob. While I have more than enough money to buy sturdy laces from the shoemakers, I prefer to trade fresh game to the starving Hob members for threadbare laces that only last about a month if I’m lucky. I suppose it’s also the prospect of using real currency to buy my goods- it’s unnerved me since the moment I had more than enough.

I’d rather come in with something, and go out with something else. My pockets are better off empty, hands full, for I always keep extra snare wire where the holes don’t breach in case Gale’s breaks. I know my sister understands this, for my motives have always been an open book to her. She may be the only one than can read me better than I can read myself, though Peeta and Gale have gotten quite good at it over the years. However, Prim is an expert. I doubt they’ll surpass her anytime soon. I almost prefer it just being Prim, because two people picking at my brain is more than enough.

“Won’t it be early? Peeta’s probably still sleeping.” She says. Over the years she’s grown quite fond of Peeta, and sometimes I joke about him trading me out for her. He tolerates it when he’s in a good mood, which is almost always, but when I use it to make light of a bad situation it rubs him the wrong way. He doesn’t make it known, but I can tell by the way his jaw tightens when he smiles.

Gale tells me it’s because Peeta thinks I might trade him out for someone else, and it could unsettle him. Which is absurd. Life without Peeta would be just as unthinkable as life without Prim and Gale.

“Baker’s hours. He’s probably already putting bread in the oven.”

She smiles at me, probably thinking of all the cakes and cupcakes the colorfully decorate the display windows, and return it easily. Then I cross the room, kissing the top of her head, which is getting dangerously close to the top of mine. The Capital doctors say I have an inch or two of growth still waiting to happen, but I still think Prim will end up being taller than me in the long room.

“Get some sleep, Little Duck. As Effie would say: we have a big, big day ahead of us.” She chuckles at my lackluster portrayal of Effie Trinket’s accent, before heading back to her room. I watch as she goes, nightgown billowing behind her in the dawn light, wanting to make sure she gets back to her room safely despite it being a mere five feet away.

Then, I head down the stairs and out the door. The walk to town is uneventful, as most people are still deep in their slumbers. I doubt anyone is really sleeping peacefully, not with what’s going to occur in a matter of hours, but many don’t hesitate at a chance to slip in some extra rest before they return to work tomorrow.

The shop windows are dark an empty, doors sealed shut, except for the bakery of course. It leaks a warm, yellow glow, and I can see inviting smoke churning from the stone chimney at the top. The pigs oink restlessly, and as I circle around their pen to the back door I make sure to give the runt of the litter a quick scratch on the head. It squeals happily at me, and I shake my head slightly as I reach the back door.

The moment I pull it open I’m enveloped in comforting warmth and the smell of freshly baked goods. Peeta’s older brother, Rye, looks up from slightly as the door shuts behind me. “Oh. Hey Katniss!” He smiles quickly at me, before ducking back down to his bread. “Peeta’s still sleeping. Thought we’d give him some extra hours of rest before his last reaping. Barley turned his alarm clock off.”

I nod, hanging my coat on the coatrack right next to Peeta’s blue jacket- a favorite of mine. Over the years I’ve become as comfortable in the safety of the bakery as I have in my own home, especially when his mother is gone. “Should I wait for him to wake up? Gale and I are going hunting.”

Rye wipes some sweat off his brow, before offering me a warm smile. I notice the middle Mellark brother lacks his usual incline to tease me, maybe because the stress of the day is getting to him too. Whatever it is, I wish it would happen more often (the attitude, not the reaping), because he can be quite annoying when he wants to be.

“Don’t bother; he’ll probably be mad if I tell you stopped by without waking him. Besides, he planned to get up early today anyways. Barley’s just worried he’s overworking himself. Dad thinks so to- but they always agree with each other.”

I nod in agreement; Peeta’s oldest brother and Mr. Mellark always tend to have the same opinion towards things. I don’t think Peeta and Rye mind- it just means Barley gets more attention from their mother as well. She always contradicts Mr. Mellark, and subsequently Barley. Sometimes I wonder how Mrs. Mellark even managed to create such wonderful boys, but Mr. Mellark’s unfailing kindness always manages to show through in each of them and I’m reminded of how they seem to have inherited none of their mother at all. The thought is comforting in a number of ways.

“Okay,” I tell him, shedding my boots beside the door with the rest of theirs and climbing the steps. The upstairs consists of a kitchen, living room, bathroom, and three bedrooms. Peeta, being the youngest, has his own room because he’s further than age from Rye than Barley is.

I sneak a peek inside his parent’s room as I pass, sighing in relief when I see that Mrs. Mellark is already off running errands in preparation for the day. Then I head into Peeta’s room, switching on the light nearest to the door. He sleeps soundly, half his body tangled in the blankets. One hand falls off the edge of the bed, and his left foot rests slightly over the frame’s edge. He looks so young in sleep, and a few of his eighteen years seem to melt right off his face. Peeta is so pure, so untainted by the Capital, despite all of its citizens being completely infatuated with our romance.

Years of being followed around by cameras have left him unchanged, if not a little more aware his surroundings. And the fact that he’s managed to retain that unwavering goodness is more than enough. Haymitch once told me that I could live ten million lifetimes and never deserve him. I’ve only got one, but I’d be happy to spend the rest of it trying to prove him wrong, even if I agree with him.

I cross the room, careful not to step on the creaky floorboards, and kneel down beside his bed. His wavy blonde hair is unkempt and matted against his forehead, and I slowly brush the soft strands away, eyes glued to his face. He stirs at my touch, muttering my name slightly in his sleep. I lean down to kiss his temple, which awakens him entirely, and he reaches over to snag my hand, pressing his lips to my wrist lovingly. “Katniss.” He murmurs, peeking one azure blue eye open.

“Peeta.” I echo, bringing my other hand up to stroke his cheek. “Wake up.”

He shakes his head, playfully burying his face in the folds of his pillow. “I don’t want to.” I smile slightly, running my free hand through his tangles of hair. After a moment, he looks up at me, then out the window at the still lightening sky.

“It’s early.” He says matter-of-factly, though it’s muffled by the remains of his slumber.

“I know. I thought you’d already be awake. Gale and I are going hunting, and Rye thought you’d want to see me before I left today.”

Today’s significance seems to dawn on him and he sits up suddenly, pulling me onto his lap as he goes. “Do you have to leave me?” I sigh, because we always go through the same routine on reaping day. He asks if I have to leave, wishes he could come with me, and we both part for the day.

It only seems to get more heartbreaking as the years go by, because there will come a day when I really will consider staying. And I can’t anger President Snow, for the retaliation would be immense. My romance with Peeta has saved me from Finnick and Johanna’s fate, but that wouldn’t stop him from placing someone I love in the games. Peeta will be safe after today, but it’s only Vick’s first year. And Posy is only six, there’s still time for me to screw up and seal her fate.

“I wish I didn’t.” I mumble into his chest, and he strokes my hair comfortingly. He knows it tears me apart to leave, and I know it kills him to watch me go. If there was any way to change it, I would in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, there will never be an alternative- not until we bring home another female victor. Which, with Haymitch’s drunkenness and my low tolerance level, will probably never happen.

“But you’ll come back.” He tells me, kissing my temple softly. I clutch the fabric of his shirt as tightly as possible, as though sheer force of will could keep me here.

“And you’ll still be here when I do?”

He doesn’t hesitate to answer, “Always.”

After that I have to say goodbye, for Gale is probably already waiting. Peeta follows me to the back door, peppering kisses all over my face until the moment the door closes behind me. I blow a kiss at him as I cross his yard, and he catches it, holding it tightly to his heart. Then, I head for the woods.

Gale is already at our rock ledge when I arrive, and we quickly get to work. By the time noon rolls around we’ve managed to catch four rabbits, three squirrels, and two turkeys that had unthinkingly strolled right into our vicinity. I give the lot of it to him, though he insists I take at least a squirrel, which I promptly trade at the Hob for new shoelaces.

After bidding Gale goodbye with a hug and a promise to take care of myself, I return to Victor’s Village. My mother has laid a pretty dark blue dress out for me, and I can tell the stitches are that of Cinna’s. After taking a shower, I slip it one along with some matching flat shoes.

Prim is already waiting when I arrive downstairs, wearing a nice blue dress that must have also been sent by Cinna. Her hair has been artfully done in two intricate braids, and she blushes sheepishly when I tell her how pretty and mature she looks. “No, I wish I looked like you, Katniss.”

I shake my head, kissing her head once more, before we make our way to the square. The three of us part ways, Prim towards the fourteen year old girl section, my mother towards the throngs of parents, and I towards the stage. Halfway to the steps, I feel a hand on my arm.

Turning, I see Peeta staring down at me with strained eyes. “Good luck.” I choke out. He says nothing, instead leaning down and pulling me in for a long kiss. I feel so safe in his arms, and for a moment it’s as though the world as stopped spinning entirely. Once I have to break for air the moment is shattered, and Peeta give my hand one last squeeze before heading off in the direction of the eighteen year old boy section.

I watch him until he disappears in the crowd, before making my way slowly up the stone steps. It feels as though every loved one in danger is a weight on my shoulders, and until I’m sure they’re safe for another year they’ll be dragging me down. Straight into the ground where the mines have been shut down for the day, and then where will I go? From there you can only go deeper, and I’m afraid I’ll never be able to find my way back to the light.

I take my seat beside Haymitch, who has actually decided to make an appearance this year, though he reeks of liquor. He gives me a ghost of a smile, actually daring to look me in the eye and say, “Happy Reaping Day, Sweetheart.” It takes all my willpower to ignore him, though the look of pain that crosses his face when I stomp on his foot with the heel of my shoe gives me a sweet sort of satisfaction.

However, all good natured feelings are quickly drained from the air as Effie addresses to crowd. “Welcome, welcome! Today, one courageous young man and woman will be chosen to represent District Twelve in the Seventy-Sixth annual Hunger Games! Let’s begin, shall we? First, the girls!”

Please don’t let it be Prim. Not Prim. Anyone but Prim. Please, please, please. Not Prim. “Orchid Peony!” A girl, maybe sixteen, emerges from the crowd. She has long brown hair tied in a single pony tail, which stretches three quarters of the way down her back. Her grey Seam eyes dart around nervously and she clutches at the folds of her simple brown skirt and white blouse. I regretfully breathe a sigh of relief for my little sister, who is safe for yet another year.

It’s not right for me to prefer the death of Orchid over my sister, but I do anyways. The girl mounts the stage, shaking in her worn out leather shoes and Effie guides her over to the left side of the stage. She stares out at the crowd tearfully, and I subconsciously calculate how far I think she’ll make it. Three days tops, if the Reaping is enough to throw her off. Still, people aren’t always what you think they are. Haymitch told me the first time he saw me he thought I’d be another bloodbath. There’s still hope for Orchid Peony, whether she knows it or not.

“Now for the boys!” Effie crosses to the boys, and my fingers tighten around the edge of my seat. Don’t let it be Peeta. Not Peeta. Save Rory. Don’t let it be Rory. Spare Vick. Not Vick. I find Peeta’s eyes in the crowd, and he stares at me reassuringly, though it does little to calm my nerves. He’ll be okay. I haven’t angered Snow- he won’t retaliate if you haven’t done anything.

Effie unrolls the slip, and I see the answer to the question I’ve been dreading in the way her muscles sag. It can’t be. I can’t be, I haven’t done a thing! I was good, I played by his rules! Snow promised me he wouldn’t tamper with the Reaping! It can’t be. It can’t be, but it is.

“Peeta Mellark.”


	3. The Plan

Sirens wailing, mines collapsing, buildings falling, fire catching, children screaming- yet nothing has happened. Nothing’s happened to prevent my Peeta from making his way to the stage, climbing the steps, and taking his place across from Orchid. How? How could I have let this happen? 

Before I can help myself I’ve thrown myself across the stage and into Peeta’s arms. The impact shocks him but after a moment he carefully winds his arms around me, burying his nose in my hair. I crush my face to his chest, inhaling the leftover scents of bread and cinnamon on his shirt and wishing I were anywhere but here. Snow promised. And I was stupid enough the trust him. Snakes lie, and I fell for his trap just as easily as the next. 

My foolishness has put Peeta on this stage. There were no odds in question here, no stroke of bad luck- it was me and my inability to play by Snow’s rules. I thought I had done the right thing- he personally told me there would be no need to put me on the market. That there would be no harm to me or any of my loved ones if I kept myself in life. And I thought I had.   
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I glance back to find Effie looking at me worriedly. Slowly, I untangle myself from Peeta, who gives my hand a gentle squeeze as I head back to my seat. No, this can’t be happening. Not my Peeta- my kind gentle Peeta, who has never done a thing to anyone. Anyone but him.   
“I present to you: Orchid Peony and Peeta Mellark, your tributes!” 

Before anyone has a chance to comprehend the last turn of events, Peeta and Orchid are being ushered inside, Haymitch and I to the train. Haymitch, looking suddenly startlingly less drunk, takes my hand and guides me to the bar compartment. “I’m not getting drunk.” I sniffle indignantly, because somehow I don’t think our tributes would appreciate that from both their mentors. 

Haymitch guffaws, boosting himself up onto a stool. “Not you, me. I just figured you’d want to talk, and I’m not going anywhere else.” He pulls a bottle of white liquor from a secret compartment in the bar, taking a long swig. I roll my eyes, but pull myself onto a stool anyways. At least he’s open to talking- last year he told me to tell him which one died first when the games were over, because neither of had what it took to make it. Unfortunately, he was right. The girl was a bloodbath, and the boy managed to make it four days before a rabid dog bit him. That was the Quarter Quell, and the twist was that all tributes had to be eighteen years old- to prove that even the closest to freedom can still be brought down. 

Bonnie, a girl from District Eight, won that year. When she was reaped I thought her to be younger than me, but she was really just malnourished and small from the poor conditions of her home. It was quite a surprise when she managed to pull through, and Cecelia was beaming with pride that year. I couldn’t find it in me to resent her, even though my tributes had perished, because Cecelia always put her best efforts into mentoring (unlike a certain drunk I know) and it was about time she was rewarded for her work. 

Being a mother herself, I suppose she realizes how hard it would be to lose a child, which is why she always does her best to make sure her tribute’s parents never have to endure that. I can’t stand the thought either, and it’s basically already widespread throughout the district that I’ll never have children. 

I always thought that Snow would pester Peeta and I for one someday in the distant future thanks to all the publicity he gained in the Capital while I was away in the arena, but it appears that day will never come now. My heart breaks for him more than it does for me, because it was always his dream to have a child- and it’s been stolen. I can always have one, the option if still open for me, though I would never even consider having one with someone other than Peeta. 

But for him, who actually wanted a child, it’s much more unfair. If I don’t get him out I’ll never forgive myself for shortening his life, taking his options away because he happened to have fallen in love with me- the wrong girl. 

“You want to get the boy out, don’t you?” Haymitch’s rough, gravelly voice manages to break through the fog collecting around my brain, and I look at him sharply. He, of all people, should know that I would never even dare to debate anything else. There is only one option this year, and I’ll be damned if he leaves all the mentoring to me again. Orchid flashes briefly across my mind, but I quickly dismiss the thought. It’s not her fault that she got reaped alongside a Victor’s love and a Capital gem- but there’s nothing I can do about her unfortunate stroke of bad luck. 

After my games Peeta became something of a celebrity, surpassing even my immense fame- and I hate having dragged him into it, but it’s almost better that way. People will by vying for a chance to sponsor the Girl on Fire’s love, and I can only imagine how much money he’ll bring in just because of his premade fame. Of course, the odds are already stacked against him.   
If this was Snow’s doing (which I assume), then most of the gamemaker’s will have them on their kill list already. He could end up being another Titus. When he went insane and started eating the flesh of his victims, his popularity dropped considerably among Capital citizens. One ‘freak’ avalanche remedied that. Peeta may be a charmer, and he surely won’t become anything as grotesque as a cannibal in the arena, but if it’s Snow’s wish to eliminate him then he could suffer the very same fate. 

“Yes. I need him, Haymitch. He’s everything to me,” I answer, dropping my head into my hands hopelessly. We have so many roadblocks in our way- it will be almost impossible to bring him out in anything other than a wooden box. My Peeta, dead. It is unfathomable, even more so than my own death three thousand times over.   
“Don’t get sappy on me, girl. That lovey-dovey crap is even worse than a life of sobriety, and I’ll be damned if I get any of it from you. So wipe the tears, sit up straight, and form yourself a plan before I throw up on that pretty dress of yours.” 

I sniffle slightly, though I haven’t allowed any tears to fall, and push myself upright against the bar. He’s right, even if his approach is less than tender. I need to be strong and steady- Peeta’s life depends on it this time, not my own. I’ll live through this no matter what, at least in body. My mind and spirit may be wrecked, but no matter the outcome- I’ll leave the Capital breathing. It’s my Peeta that’s at stake here, and I’d return to the arena every year for the rest of my life if it meant I could spare him- but I can’t. And my only alternative is to bring him out. I have too. 

“Okay,” I sniffle, turning to look Haymitch in the eye. His grey Seam ones are more alert than I expected, and they look at me calculatingly. “We need to get him as many sponsors as possible. It won’t be hard, but he’s going to need all the help he can get. I think we both know the odds had no part in this. So the more money he has in his account, the easier it will be to help him out of desperate situations.”

“What about the girl?” Haymitch asks, though judging by his tone he already knows the answer. 

Still, it pains me to say this- even if her survival would mean Peeta’s death. “We hope she’s a bloodbath and get on with it.” 

“And what if she’s not?” 

I pause, having never considered any other scenario. What if she shows potential, what if she survives? We can’t just neglect her needs in favor of Peeta’s. Can we? Could we just leave her to fend for herself in the arena, even if her situation is more dire than Peeta’s? Am I that heartless? Before I arrive at any real conclusion, the door to the compartment is sliding open.   
Effie stands there; a disappointed yet sorrowful look in her blue eyes- the only seemingly human and unmade thing I’ve been able to find in her these past three years. “Katniss, dear,” She coos softly, and I’m surprised to hear it from her. “Peeta’s been asking for you. He’s in his room.” 

She, just like the rest of the Capital, has also taken to Peeta easily- though she knows him a bit more personally. He’s always in Victor’s Village, and even Haymitch seems to have accepted him into our world. But now it’s all gone. “Thank you, Effie.” I whisper, hopping off the stool and brushing past her lightly. I can hear her talking to Haymitch about how hard it must be for me, though I’m too far away to hear his sarcastic response. 

Over the years he’s become something of a surrogate father to me, and I know he cares deeply for me- but, despite Effie’s sentiments, it’s almost better that he prefers not to show it. Emotions get in the way, and I don’t think I can take any more pity from anyone. I save the emotions for Peeta, Prim, Finnick, and sometimes Jo. Haymitch prefers to be left alone, and I always take it upon myself to be one of the people that fulfill that wish for him. 

I arrive at Peeta’s compartment, knocking softly on the door. It doesn’t take long for it to open, and when it does Peeta’s standing on the other end with a frown etched on his usually smiling face. It quickly gives way to relief, and he pulls me against him in a bone crushing hug. I return it gratefully, because if there’s one thing I’ll never get tired of it’s Peeta’s affections. He kisses the top of my head softly, and it’s only then that I let the tears begin to fall. 

How could this have happened? Snow said… he promised… how? Peeta pulls us inside, sliding the door shut with his foot. “Katniss…” He whispers, collapsing onto the bed with me still in his arms. 

In my mind I compare him to the boy I found sleeping this morning. His reassuring words that I planned to keep with me throughout this week seem to have gotten stuck in his throat. It appears I’ll need them more than ever now. “I’m so sorry, Peeta.” I cry, and a hysterical sob shudders through my body. They become more and more intense every few seconds, until I’m heaving and wailing against his chest. He says nothing, just continues to rub my back and stroke my hair. 

I eventually force myself to pull my emotions back into place, because while this is a hopeless situation, there’s still a way to avoid what I’m subconsciously preparing myself for. He’s not dead yet, and he won’t be if I have anything to say about it. Which, as his mentor, I do. I can’t let myself succumb to this soul-shattering grief I’ve let consume me in wake of the reaping, not when he’s still depending on me to get him out of the arena intact and breathing. 

“I have a plan, ya know.” I tell him, for lack of anything better to say. At least, if anything, he’ll know that I’m still clear headed enough to put up a fight for him. To my surprise, he lets out a short stunted laugh at this, though it quickly gives way to a hysterical fit in a minute. 

It’s only then that I remember how much of a shock this must be to him, even more than is to me, because at least I knew what the stakes were after I talked to Snow last year. But Peeta- I chose to keep him in the dark. I told Haymitch it was a safety precaution, but I really just wanted to leave my Boy with the Bread as unburdened by the Capital as possible. It hasn’t done much good now, I suppose. Though, if he still thinks he ended up here by chance it may help him in the arena. 

He’ll be less likely to give up if he doesn’t think he’s already got a reserved spot on every gamemaker kill list. No one that walks into the games with a box already premade for them ever walks out, at least that’s what Haymitch told me. But if Peeta still thinks he has a chance then he’ll be more inclined to fight. 

His laughter finally dies down, and I stroke his curls softly. “What’s so funny?” I ask, because with everything that’s happened today, I hardly see a strategy designed to keep him alive as humorous. Peeta looks down at me, his eyes shining- though I can’t tell why. 

“I have no idea.” And I start laughing too. Of course there was nothing funny about it, especially in light of this morning’s events- but sometimes it feels good to laugh. So good, that I can’t bring myself to stop, and soon Peeta’s joined me- chuckling hysterically at nothing at all. Prim always says laughter is the best medicine. I guess she was right, as usual.   
Once we calm down a while later, I lead Peeta to the dining cart. His eyes widen slightly at all the food, but having been in my house and eaten with us plenty of times, he’s more accustomed to the quantity than some. Orchid, who stumbles in a moment after us, seems less that prepared for the onslaught of mouthwatering scents and vast portions of overstuffed plates, and the food seems to captivate her as though she were in a trance. 

I smile a little at this, because I can remember exactly how it felt to see it all for the first time, despite having gained a few pounds prior thanks to Mr. Mellark and his sons. When Peeta and I started dating they made it their mission to help my family, sending me home with extra bits of bread and other sweet little morsels for Prim- who always graciously shared with me. I always tried to sneak some extra game into their freezer, more often than not getting caught red-handed by Rye- who shoved it forcefully into my hands with a smug smirk plastered on his face.   
Shaking my head slightly, I take my place at the table with Peeta at my side, and Orchid takes this as her cue to do so as well. Leaning over slightly as she calmly but eagerly fills her plate with the restraint only someone who’s been starving all their life can have; I whisper lightly, “Take it easy, the food is rich.” 

She looks at me inquisitively, almost as though she were surprised I were talking to her at all, but before I can say anything Haymitch trips into the room, belching loudly as he hits the carpeted floor with a thump. He drags himself upright, somehow having managed not to lose a single drop from his bottle, before slumping into an ornate chair at the head of the table. Effie, who entered from the opposite side of the room at the same time of Haymitch and saw the whole thing, rolls her eyes before daintily taking her seat across from Orchid. 

As the main course is wheeled into the room Peeta’s hand finds mine beneath the table, and he gives it a reassuring pat, before interlacing his fingers with mine. I don’t know what it’s for, maybe he knows I appreciate the affection, which I often shy away from with anyone else. Or maybe he knows how stressful this is for me, because every moment could be the last, each kiss the first in the line leading up to the goodbye one that’s inevitably speeding towards us. Whatever it is, I appreciate it, because I don’t know how much more time we’ll have together, what moments will be the final ones. 

I just hope I never have to find out. Not now, at eighteen. Not when we have so many plans. Never.


	4. The Idea

_The Year of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games_

  
_“Katniss? What are you still doing here?”_

  
_I look up from my plate of enticing food, stacked high with all the rich delicacies found solely in the Capital- and provided solely for me, a gift from President Snow- to stare at an incredulous Johanna, who stands with her hands on her hips in the open elevator._

  
_I begrudgingly place my fork back on the fine linen placemat, and it takes all my willpower to do so, because the smell emanating from the gourmet specialties spread wide before me is so enticing my head has begun to spin, and turn to face her. “I’m eating. Am I supposed to be doing something else?”_

  
_Johanna glares at me, as though the answer is the most obvious thing in the world, and I’m just too slow to see what’s sitting right in front of me. Yet, glancing around the room, I see no obvious signs of my apparent lack of perception. “Tell me you haven’t forgotten! You promised you’d participate this year, when we were on the Victory tour!”_

  
_She stamps her foot in a manner similar to a petulant five year old, and it’s somehow completely unsurprising coming from the spiky haired firecracker waiting to explode in the middle of my penthouse. “Tradition?” She tries, exasperatedly tugging a hand through her artfully done hair in frustration, surely from my blank look, before striding over in unreasonably tall heels and shoving my plate away._

  
_I reach for it weakly, and she glares haughtily at me. “You know what happens twice a year, and I’ll be damned if you can weasel out of it again, Everdeen!” Her tone, threatening at best, is enough to make me roll my eyes, but before I get the chance she’s dragging me across the floor and into the waiting elevator._   
_I stare down at myself as the doors close with finality, dressed in old sweatpants and a comfy cotton shirt I brought from home- which smells undeniably like my Peeta-, then wistfully back at the abandoned food. Such a waste, to leave a perfectly good plate sitting there, but alas. As we shoot down to the District Seven floor, my thoughts drift uneasily to my tributes- sleeping soundly in their beds before interviews tomorrow- but before I can get too caught up in my worry for them, the doors slide back open to reveal the twinkling lights and woodsy scent of Johanna’s floor._

  
_A group of Victors huddles in the large, open, living room area, which is filled with tree like decorations and deep burgundy furniture- probably more to keep the tributes at ease than anything, though I doubt the gaudy Capital creations help much with that. Among the rowdy mess of hyperactive Victors is an empty glass bottle, which quivers slightly from the noise level. I send a silent ‘thanks’ for the rock solid soundproof walls, because even though they’re not my problem, Johanna’s tributes deserve some rest before the stress that’s sure to ensue in the remaining days of their lives. “Party!” Finnick shouts, emerging from the kitchen area with a bottle of… root beer?_

  
_He places it harshly on the coffee table, before his dazzling green eyes dart around the room with his usual energy and exuberance, before landing directly on me. “Hey! Katniss!! You finally came!” Jumping suddenly from his place on the couch, he rushes over to where I’m standing and smiles sweetly at me, before taking my hand and pulling me over the others._

  
_Cashmere sits next to her brother, Brutus and Enorbaria on their other side. Esmeralda, last year’s Victor from District Five, sits across from them. She’s my age, hardly the party animal type, and looks just as uncomfortable as I do. Having won her games at sixteen, she’s already a prize in the eye of the Capital, especially with long raven hair and eyes the exact color of her name. The others have been saying Snow is waiting until next year, though, because she’ll be worth more when she’s eighteen. And there’s no way she’ll deny him, not with a little brother at home. He’s eight years old, and nearly a carbon copy of her physically. Judging by the way she talks about him- fondly, with just the right hint of sisterly reverence and nostalgia- she’d do anything to keep him safe._

  
_It’s then that I sigh in relief for Peeta, who saved me in every way possible, without even knowing it._

  
_“Hi, Katniss,” She smiles kindly at me, and I sink down next to her. Dressed the same way I am, I have no doubt she was pulled unwillingly from her room as well._   
_“Hey,” I mumble, “Do you know what’s going on?”_

  
_She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at the others. “I wish. My tribute wouldn’t fall asleep. Cashmere came and got me before I could help, so Carmine’s left to deal with her. I sort of feel bad, but the others say I would’ve gotten too attached, what with having such little experience.”_

  
_I nod, thinking about my own tributes, sleeping soundly in their rooms. They’re both from the Seam, and are used to falling asleep in less than ideal situations, though at least they’ve had a full meal, for what it’s worth. At eighteen they’re more than equipped to deal with the fear, though I’m still a firm believer that no one should ever have to endure this, capable or not. Not that I would ever voice these thoughts aloud, for fear of endangering the ones I hold dear. No, that’s something I could never risk, not for anything._

  
_Suddenly, Johanna cheers loudly, plopping down next to Finnick, who materialized at my side sometime during my thoughts. “Let’s get this started!”_

  
_Finnick smiles widely, staring pointedly at Esmeralda over the top of my head. “In case you were wondering: a few years ago we made up a game. It’s basically a bonding Victor trivia game.”_

  
_It occurs to me suddenly, why Johanna was so aghast that I hadn’t known what was going on. This isn’t just trivia. In fact, I had walked in on it during the Victory Tour, when all the Victors were in the Capital for the party at Snow’s mansion. This is ‘strip’ trivia. Every time you get an answer wrong, off goes one article of clothing. I feel my face twisting in horror, but before I can make my hasty exit, Finnick, who’s sensed my escape plan, has tightened his fingers around my wrist. “Not this year Girl on Fire,” he says cheekily._

  
_I scowl venomously at him. “I’m not playing.”_

  
_His eyes narrow at me, challenging me. “Why? Your boyfriend wouldn’t approve?”_

  
_I shake my head slowly, leaning back into the couch, and inhaling the comforting scent of pine- however artificial- because it reminds slightly of the woods back home. “No. I don’t approve, and that’s that. The second there’s more than I want to see, I’m out of here.”_

  
_“Fine,” he acquiesces, “But next year, you have to play.”_

  
_“Maybe.” I answer, though, in truth, the chances of me actually participating are slim at best. How many times have they called me a prude? They should know better than to think they actually have a chance of persuading me to participate in something as disgusting as Strip Trivia. Besides, even though I have no doubt in my mind Peeta wouldn’t care in the slightest- so long as he were here, though I’m thankful he’s safe back home- I still wouldn’t feel right partaking in it._

  
_“Definitely, or you have to stay for it all.”_

  
_I deliberate for a moment, my teeth unconsciously snagging my lip and chewing it raw. He’s giving me a choice, however unreasonable it is, and that means I have two options. One: stay here and endure the torture of watching my fellow Victors undress or, Two: Let the Katniss of the future suffer. After a final moment of mentally weighing pros and cons, I make my decision._

  
_“Fine. Next year.”_

  
_“Good! Finally! Now, can we start?” Cashmere asks from across the circle, and I nod, leaning back into the couch once more. Esmeralda mirrors my position, and I wait for her to refuse playing as well, but it appears she’s more open minded than I am, for no protest arises from her. Johanna reaches into the circle, and by an undecided vote, goes first._   
_The bottle spins roughly across the wooden floor, before friction forces it to a slow halt across from Brutus. She grins wickedly at him, though Brutus does nothing but raise his eyebrows and offer an ostentatious smile. “My middle name.”_

  
_This, however, wipes the smirk clean from his face, as though someone had erased a blackboard at school, and nothing but a hesitant smear was left in its place. “Ummm…” he stalls, and after a few minutes of his careful thinking, the group mutters irritatedly at him to hurry up. “Fine! Uhh, Marie?”_

  
_A slow smile spreads across Johanna’s face as she shakes her head at him. “Not even close. It’s Leigh.” Brutus groans in frustration, unwilling sliding his jacket from his shoulders at a painfully slow rate. Once it’s discarded in a small heap next to him, he leans forward and presses his fingers to the bottle, pausing for a moment, before giving it a rough spin. It rapidly blurs in a circle for a few seconds, before settling with its nozzle pointed directly at Cashmere._

  
_She grins, rubbing her hands together in gleeful and uncontained anticipation. Brutus rubs his chin thoughtfully, before finally deciding on a question. “The name of my childhood dog.”_   
_Cashmere blanches, leaning back as she thinks, and her brow scrunches in concentration. After a little while, she timidly answers, “Axel?” Brutus swears loudly, and Cashmere smiles proudly, before leaning forward to spin the bottle. It takes its time this round, before coming to a slow stop in front of Finnick. He smirks at her, and I lean back in the couch, still thinking of the food I abandoned when Johanna fetched me. To think, I had that prepared for nothing, only to be pulled away for another disturbing game of Strip Trivia. At least Haymitch isn’t participating this year. That’s not a sight I’d ever like to witness again. Ever._

  
_Suddenly, someone’s distantly calling my name._

  
“Katniss?”

  
“Katniss, darling, wake up.”

  
“Come on, sweetie.”

  
“Katniss?”

  
I groggily force my eyes open to the bright morning light, which invades the small train compartment intrudingly in the wake of a new day. Peeta stands above me, sunlight illuminating his silky blonde curls in a golden halo, and I reach forward to wrap my arms around him. He carefully settles next to me, as not to startle me too much, and I pull him in for a long kiss.  
For a moment I can almost pretend we aren’t on the train, heading to the Capital, but in my room like usual. It doesn’t last, because he pulls away far too soon for my liking. “Katniss, darling, I hate to stop, but we need to go get breakfast. We arrive today and I’m starving. Believe me when I say there’s nothing more I’d rather do when it comes to kissing you, but right now we need to get up.”

  
That’s when it hits me, as hard as ever; we arrive in the Capital today. That leaves only a few days before my Peeta is placed in an arena to fight for his life, with me unable to do anything but watch helplessly from the sidelines as death surrounds him at every turn. But even more so- thanks to my dream- I have to play Strip Trivia this year. Damn Katniss of the Past for being so characteristically selfish and forcing me into yet another uncomfortable situation. And now my Peeta is here as well.

  
Unlike Snow promised, it appears my problems will just keep compounding, maybe until I’m smothered under them. In reality, a game of Strip Trivia isn’t really going to hurt me- but this year there’s more at stake. With Peeta a tribute, I won’t have time to frolic around the training center with the other Victors as I did last time. No, this year is all about doing everything I can to bring Peeta home- even if it means the unthinkable. I’m sure Finnick could help me out- not that he’d want to.

  
Of course, if I were to enlist Finnick’s help in… sealing some deals… there’s no way Peeta could ever know. He would never be okay with me doing that to help him win, whether his life depended on it or not. But… if it’s my only option… I would do anything to ensure Peeta’s safety- even if it meant something as vile as this. There’s no doubt in my mind that Finnick will be reluctant, but he knows what it’s like, having had Annie in the games himself. He would support my decisions; understand my urgent need to keep Peeta alive. All I have to do is make sure Peeta never finds out.

  
He’d never forgive me, even if it does guarantee his safety.

  
“Katniss? Are we going to get something to eat?” I shake myself away from my thoughts, staring into Peeta’s kind blue eyes, leaking out pure unadulterated love just for me, and find the strength in them that I need. Yes, I’ll contact Finnick as soon as we reach the Capitol.

  
Sitting up, I catch a whiff of all the delicious breakfast food waiting for me in the other compartment.

  
“Yes. Let’s go.”

  
He smiles at me, so unaware of all my plans, of Snow’s interference with our lives, of how impossible it will be for him to make it out of this alive, and I can’t help but be thankful for it. A bitter and resentful Peeta isn’t something I ever wish to experience, though I doubt an apparition such as that will ever come into existence anyway. Still, the thought of him being nothing but a ghostly shell of who he is now: nothing frightens me more, and the idea of that nightmare morphing into a reality is impossible to understand, especially with the smiling faced boy in front of me.

  
As we stand to go into the dining cart, and I once again go over my plan to meet up with Finnick in my head, I can’t help but reach out and grab his hand as he begins to open the door.

“Peeta?”

  
He turns, smiling pleasantly at me, though his eyes are still rimmed with red from yesterday’s crying. “I love you.”

  
His grin grows wider, and he squeezes my hand comfortingly in his own. “I love you too.”

  
Yes, I will do anything to keep Peeta alive. Whatever it takes.


	5. The Proposition

“There it is,” Orchid says distantly, as though she were locked in some sort of dream that would dissipate in a few moments, if she fought hard enough to wake herself up. I knew it wouldn’t, that this was as real as when I was chosen for my own games, and that her survival was as probable as the blind girl from District Nine’s was four years ago. Still, I make sure to keep my thoughts perfectly contained, for if she knew of my absolute certainty in her inevitable demise, it would surely kill the last shreds of hope she may have left.

Peeta looks up from his plate of food, pushing his chair back and rushing to the window, craning his neck to see. He cradles either side of the window frame, the awe on his face unmistakable, and I feel pity wash over me at the idea that he still feels a twisted sort of veneration for the people of the Capital, and their abundant opulence. It’s hard not to be envious of all they have, and the sheer quantity of it. But the contempt I harbor for how they waste it overrides any sort of other emotion I might’ve once held. For Peeta, who’s had a different upbringing, their lifestyle is a little more familiar, if on a miniscule scale of almost no measurable amount.

I spear a piece of sausage with my fork, focusing intently on the cut of meat as the train speeds into the cave, shrouding the room in a certain darkness that only comes from being beneath tons and tons of rock. Sensing my discomfort Peeta dejectedly pulls himself from the window and retakes his seat beside me, slipping his hand beneath the cloth to hold my own. I squeeze it gratefully and he turns to look at me, tiny shards of light glinting of his bright blue eyes.

After a moment we emerge in the train station, which is overrun with sponsors, eager to get a close look at this year’s batch of sacrifices before they’re prepped for slaughter in the Training Center. I can’t help but push my plate away in disgust as they cheer. For now they’re content to size the tributes as they live, but in a few days it will be nothing but they’re deaths that they reserve their wild cheers for.

When it steams to a stop Effie comes bustling in, donning yet another garish outfit, this time of green satin. “Alright!” She chirps, looking out over us as though we were pupils eagerly waiting for her to begin teaching. “We will walk from here to the Training Center, but for a few minutes we will be under the watch of the public eye! So I want us to put on our best smiles and show them our confidence.” Orchid nods slowly, and Peeta hops up from his chair. Haymitch burps loudly, and I cast my eyes to the floor resignedly before getting up and heading towards the door.

Before I can get too far Effie catches my elbow and pulls me back a few paces. “Try not to scowl too much.” She mutters, the cheery tone gone and replaced by something much more serious, “We wouldn’t want to lessen his chances any because of your poor attitude. That’s your love.” She stares down at me, and for a moment I see her as something other than a gaudy Capital creation. Her eyes are a clear sky blue, too natural to be anything artificial, and it appears to be the only unmade thing about her. They are nothing but determined as they bore into me.

“Fight for him.”

And with that she’s gone, leaving me by myself at the stairs. Cameras flash and reporters shout, but I do my best to avoid it as I fight the glare, hurrying to catch up with the others.

_Fight for him._ If only you knew, Effie. If only.

                              ____________________________________________

“You want _WHAT?_ ” Finnick growls, pulling me harshly over to the corner of the room.

“You heard me, Odair.”

He stares down at me with eyes as sharp as flint, and the green in them seems to have hardened immensely in mere seconds. I glare back, tugging my arm from his grasp roughly. “No Katniss, no. Under absolutely no circumstances will I do that for you. Are you out of your mind?”

I stamp my foot petulantly against the ground, frustration washing over me yet again today. I don’t get it. Wouldn’t he want to same thing if it was Annie? Didn’t he? I’m not leaving the Capital without Peeta, I’m just not. I refuse. But if he won’t help me, who can I count on?

“You would do the same thing for Annie!” I yell, pushing at his chest with all my strength. He staggers backwards a few steps, catching himself against the paneled wall, before looking at me incredulously.

“Katniss, what on Earth are you talking about?” He asks, tugging a hand through his styled bronze hair. My eyes narrow suspiciously, but his mirror nothing but confusion. Doesn’t he know? Everyone watches the Reapings, and if not, someone must’ve told him.

“Didn’t you watch the Reaping?”

“No,” He sputters, waving his hands in the air, “I was busy.” His face twists, as though he had been sucking on a lemon, and I think I know exactly what ‘busy’ means, before his eyes scrutinize me carefully. “Katniss…. What happened? It’s not Prim is it? Oh no, President Snow said… I thought… this can’t be happe-”

“It’s not Prim,” I interject, because his rambling annoys me on good days, and today most definitely does not pertain to that slim, if existent, category.

“Well, then who is it,” He persists, but one last look from me clues him in. I can see the gears frantically turning in his head as he tries to process, and I imagine I looked exactly the same way, though a little more desperate, at the Reaping when the names were called.

“Peeta,” He whispers, and I nod my head slightly in answer, hoping he’ll catch it, because I don’t think I can stand to have a mature conversation about Peeta right now. I came to talk about one thing and one thing only, and that’s most likely all I can manage.

Finnick looks at me with understanding, but before he can get another word out Plutarch Heavensbee is gesturing to him, red envelope in hand. “Meet me on the roof at midnight.” He mutters, before concealing his past emotions and sauntering over to Plutarch with a dopey grin on his face.

Gone is compassionate, human Finnick, replaced by cocky, player Finnick, and I find myself wandering towards the elevators before I can witness what’s about to happen between those two. I may have never gotten one myself, but I know what the red envelopes are for. Besides, if all goes as planned, I’ll be experiencing it firsthand myself. Somehow, that brings no comfort, but I’ll still have it better off than some. Snow, when he has young Victors as I was, likes to bid they’re first time to the highest paying.

Having been with Peeta for so long, I won’t have to worry about that, but that doesn’t mean it will be any easier because. It just means I’ll have something to hold onto while I’m there, something untainted that Even President Snow can’t tamper with.

I will always have that. Not even someone as vile as our ruler can take it away from me. It appears, however, that he is done playing games and letting me slip around the rules. My thoughts are only reinforced when I step out onto the District Twelve floor to see the man sitting there, in the flesh.

“Ms. Everdeen. It’s a pleasure.”

                                         ----------------------------------------------------------------

“I wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances. I assume you share my sentiments?”

“Yes.”

He chuckles lightly, and I take a seat across from him, watching him suspiciously. I can smell the blood and roses from across the coffee table, and it seems to only grow stronger as we silently size each other, waiting for the other to back down. It is I who looks away first, for fear of making this situation any worse than it already it.

A roaring fire has been started in the fireplace, and I take a moment to enjoy the way it hisses and crackles in my ears, a small reminder of home, before shifting my eyes back up to Snow once more.

We sit in tense silence for a moment before I can hold it in no longer, and when I do release it, it comes rushing out like an overflowing waterfall. “What did I do wrong? I thought I followed all your rules.”

He sighs, picking at a bit of loose thread on one of the throw pillows at his side. “That is exactly what I came here to discuss,” He glances back up slightly, takes in my hateful expression, and laughs gruffly under his breath. “If looks could kill, Ms. Everdeen, I would be dead by many more than just you.”

“Now, I know what you must be thinking. And if I do remember correctly, before your Victory tour a few years ago we promised not to lie to each other. So believe me when I say this: Peeta’s reaping was not my doing. It seems improbable, but it’s the truth. In fact, I was debating taking his name out altogether, but figured he’d be just as safe with a few slips in.”

I say nothing, though my voice finally does manage to find its way back, and I sputter, “What about Prim? What if she gets chosen?”

His lips flatten into a thin line, and he looks me over quickly. “That matter is already taken care of. Her name was removed before the 74th games. Looking back, I see I should’ve done the same with your beloved Peeta. This is an unfortunate inconvenience to us both. ”

My eyes narrow as his easy dismissal of Peeta’s reaping, as though it really were just a small easily rectifiable ‘inconvenience’. My hands curl around the chair’s hemmed edges as frustration ebbs at the porcelain mask I’ve placed over my features. If there’s one thing I will never tolerate, it’s Snow seeing my pain, my feelings. That gives him a power I’m not willing to hand over, ever.

“With all due respect sir, is that all you came to do? Clear your name? Because, if so, I must take my leave. Johanna and I have some urgent matters to discuss.”

He looks at me bemusedly, running his fingers over the same pillow’s edge once more. His face is bereft of any other emotion as he speaks, “Quite the contrary, actually. That was only the beginning. You see, people here in the Capital have become very attached to that boy of yours. Many were heartbroken at his Reaping. And I can’t have an unhappy Capital, Ms. Everdeen. It simply will not work. Despite what you may think, it doesn’t take much to knock an empire like mine to ruins. Perception is everything, though, and we cannot let them see our distress. Just know, I will not let my Capital, everything I’ve worked for, fall because of two eighteen year old lovers. The gamemakers will not target him directly, but some matters are out of my hands. Also, I would like to contribute a large sum of money to Peeta’s account, for when he is in the games. Nothing would make me happier than to have him out alive, and this whole matter behind us.”

I can do nothing but nod, somewhat astonished by his incline to give the Capital a love story that keeps his nation afloat. As if the loss of my Peeta would start a riot. I knew the citizens here were infatuated with us, but this is a whole new level I hadn’t anticipated. I can’t say I hate it though, because it makes my job of keeping Peeta alive a lot easier.

Suddenly, Snow continues, “Plutarch has informed me of your conversation with Mr. Odair earlier today. I must say, your devotion to your young man is admirable. I’m sure I can arrange something for you. My money may be much more than enough for the first few days, but you’d do well to remember that nothing comes without a price, and when the costs raise dramatically you’ll need sufficient funds. The competition may not be as harsh as in recent years, but surviving the games will still prove to be difficult for even the most prepared tribute. I won’t force you into anything, as my deal with you still stands. But know, anything you make doing this will go straight to Peeta’s bank account, and a small donation from myself as well. It would improve his odds drastically. Still, before you get yourself into anything else, are you in or not? Choose wisely.”

I dig my fingernails into my wrists. Anything Peeta can get will be the difference between his life and death. For me, there really is no choice involved, and Snow knows it. I would help Peeta in any way than I can, and though this makes me feel no better than the Seam girls that go knocking on Old Cray’s door, I know what I have to do. “I’m in.”

And that’s that.

“Good. I’ll tell Mr. Odair your rooftop meeting will not be necessary. Expect an envelope beneath the door at precisely nine each night. If you do plan on keeping this a secret from your… significant other… I’d suggest making sure he never gets a hold of it. This is risky business, but I’m sure you’ll be able to hide it as long as he doesn’t ever see that envelope. Even the dumbest of the dumb, which observation proves he is not, would be able to figure out what it meant once they saw it.” He smooth’s the edges of the throw pillow with the pad of his thumb, before standing and offering his hand to me.

I take his weathered hand in my own and shake it slightly. “It’s been a pleasure speaking with you.”

“The same goes to you. Have a lovely evening, President Snow.” My own cordiality frightens me, but Snow seems put off none by it.

“All the same to you, Ms. Everdeen. And may the odds be ever in your love’s favor.”

The moment the door shuts behind him, I take the throw pillow from the couch and toss it into the fireplace to burn. Then I glance at the clock to find it reading four thirty. The tribute parade will start soon, and Portia must be almost done with Peeta by now. Sure in the notion that Cinna will rouse me before it’s time to begin, I head to Peeta’s living quarters and throw myself in the bed, not even bothering to live under the pretense that I’ll be in my own room.

Besides, if Cinna doesn’t know where to find me, Peeta will. As I quickly succumb to sleep, I briefly wonder what will happen when I get that red envelope under the door tonight. When will I leave, what will I wear, how bad will it be? Will it even matter how it is? Finnick says that if you’re popular it doesn’t matter, so long as you don’t act openly disgusted, though sometimes even then.

Before I can really elaborate on the matter I quickly fall into a restless sleep that is sure to provide little comfort in the long run, and the last thing I do is promise myself to kiss Peeta goodbye before I leave tonight, red envelope in hand.


	6. The Lie

“Magnificent, simply magnificent!” Effie gushes, pulling Orchid along by the sleeve of her flame sequined cape (it seems the Capital hasn’t quite gotten sick of the fire theme yet), and I take Peeta’s hand to steer him away. The tribute parade was centered almost entirely on the District Twelve, though to be honest Peeta got more time in the sun than Orchid.

It had been irritating, seeing the girls proffer roses and kisses to him, but the look on his face as flames licked the tips of his cheekbones and sparked a golden halo atop his blonde head was priceless, and practically melted my insides to decomposed mush. I almost forgot what would happen at nine tonight, seeing him shine so radiantly, even in the face of what could be death. 

Of course, he was playing the sponsors just as I had instructed him to do, just in case the odds happened to slip from our favors some faraway Reaping Day. His silver tongue and dashing good looks will be sure to make many fall swooning at his feet, and tonight’s performance was undeniable proof. Even I felt a little mesmerized by his blazing smile, tripping slightly over the ridiculous heels Effie forced me into and grabbing nervously at the curls of my hair. 

Peeta chuckles as I pull him to our room, away from Effie and her useless tittering about simpleminded whatnots, shut the door behind us and shed my heels in the carpet. “Eager much?” He teases as I fumble with the clasp on his cape. 

“You wish,” I mutter, loosening it a watching it flow on a wind current to land softly on the ground. “I’m tired and we’re taking a nap.”

I trade the dress out for a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt of Peeta’s I brought from home. He may only be able to bring one token, but as Victor I’m free to tote whatever I want from the District. “What if I don’t want to nap?” He asks, pulling on a shirt and some shorts. I kick his costume aside, letting it fall to rest in a dusty corner of the room. It’s a waste of Portia’s handiwork, but she doesn’t reuse tribute parade costumes, and I doubt it will be missed from her array of wardrobe selections for Peeta. 

Setting the small alarm on my Capital watch, a gift from Effie on my eighteenth birthday, I let my head hit the pillow and relish in the feeling of my boyfriend’s arms securely around my waist. It’s comforting in the homiest of ways, and my mind briefly flits to Prim, probably turning in herself after watching the opening ceremony. For once, I’m thankful that ugly orange cat will be there to guard her from whatever night terrors happen to lurk in the unexplored corners of our house. 

And even though I know I will have to wake again in hardly an hour to intercept the red envelope, I manage to fall into a peaceful slumber. 

My alarm does end up squeaking lightly into my ear, and I glance out the window to find the sky has turned completely black. The glowing green letters on the clock beside the bed table read 8:57 PM. Panic grips at my heart with icy fingers, but I squelch it the best I can and gently pry Peeta’s arms from my torso.

They tighten as I try to slowly make my way from bed, pulling my sleepily back against his chest. His lips brush my neck lightly as he whispers, “Just five more minutes, sweetie. Okay?”   
I groan at his half-awake state, because he obviously doesn’t realize where we are in the hazy landscape of his subconscious. But I decide to play along anyways, because it might be the only way he’d release me without waking up fully with a trainload of inquiries. 

“I have to hunt, Peeta. Get some extra sleep okay, baby?” Lying feels wrong, even if it is just for the sake of keeping in deep in his slumbers, where it’s hopefully peaceful, and I just can’t shake the ever growing feeling of regret blossoming in the pit of my stomach. 

Or maybe it’s just nerves. 

“Can I have a goodbye kiss?” He whispers, yawning slightly and tickling beneath my chin with the soft hairs on his head. I sigh sadly, because affection is one thing I could never deny my Peeta, and what I’ve booked myself for tonight feels like a sick form of cheating, even if it will keep him alive. 

“Of course,” I tell him softly, leaning back down to press a soft kiss chastely to his lips, allowing myself one more moment to remain blissfully in his arms, my back pressed to the flat planes of his muscled chest. I know that after tonight things will be different, and I find myself already longing for his presences, though I’ve yet to leave. 

“Goodbye, my Peeta.” I whisper against the freckles smattered on his forehead, before untangling myself from his grasp and pulling the covers back up to his chin, where they were before I pulled them down with my rustling. Then I quickly change into a dress I hope does the job, shutting the door softly. 

The clock has just reached 8:02, and I find a single red envelope resting on the door mat. It lacks and address and postage stamp, but there’s only one person this could be for. Ripping it open with the side of my fingernail, I find very brief but clear instructions and an address. 

Mr. Phineas Applebottom  
Lawyer  
1324 Florence Way  
8:30 PM- 2:15 AM   
-President Snow

Gripping the paper tightly in my hands, I slowly make my way to the elevator on shaky legs. The training center is near empty, not a soul milling around in the lavished lobby. Nighttime in the Capital is filled with people, however. Some gawk at the sight of me as I step in the brisk winds, clutching my coat tightly. A driver waits beside a long black car, in his hand a cream colored card with my name written on it in fancy black scrawl. 

“Ms. Everdeen.” He addresses politely, and I nod curtly back at him as he opens to very back door accommodatingly. I pause before the plush, but empty seating, stilted by my towering heels, before take a seat and mashing myself against the leather siding of the vehicle. 

After a moment the car hums softly to life, and as we back away from the training center, all I can think of is my beloved Peeta, hopefully still sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware of where I’m going.   
***

It’s 2:30 by the time I finally arrive back at the District Twelve floor, everything aching unbearably, an agonizing reminder of what I’m trying so hard to forget. Tears squeeze between my eyelids as I stumble out into the living area, and I hastily attempt to wipe them away with the heels in my hands, but only end up smudging them into my skin. 

Peeta jumps to his feet when he sees me, looking ragged and worn out. His hair has been ransacked, surely by his worried hands scraping through it. This was something I hadn’t accounted on, not when I left. I had hoped he would stay asleep, and I could just silently slip into bed with him when I returned, so he’d never know I went at all. Clearly, that didn’t happen the way I thought it would. 

His eyes melt when he sees me, so worn down and torn apart. I dodge his arms as he rushes to fold me in a hug, hollow numbness stinging me all over. Human touch is nothing something I crave, not even from him, especially not right now. Rejection flashes clear and strong across his face, but I push past him, tripping slightly as I wobble on throbbing feet to our bedroom.  
I may not be comfortable with his affection, but sleeping alone is something I don’t think I’d be able to do tonight. 

He follows, looking on with intense concern. Heavy lines wring beneath his eyes, but I ignore them and peel the dress over my head, hoping silently the bruises don’t bloom like ripe fruit on my skin until tomorrow. 

I hadn’t counted on the red marks. 

A sharp gasp of breath escapes his mouth as he rushes up to me, pinning me helplessly against the wall to stop me from squirming away as he inspects my ribs and legs. “Katniss… baby… what happened to you.” It’s not a question, which I’m thankful for, because I could never give him an answer. 

He runs his thumb across the marks, and even though this is the gentle touch of my boy with the bread, I can’t help but tug his fingers off. “Please…” I whimper, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. He removes his hands at this, slowly backing away to retrieve a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants, before laying them at the table beside me. 

I gratefully pull them on, disappearing to the bathroom for a moment to scrub the makeup from my face. It washes down the drain in a dark black swirl, and I braid my hair just as the last trace of it flows out of sight. Peeta is sitting on the bed when I return, back straight against the headboard, hands folded neatly in his lap, feet crossed on over the other. 

I take a seat on the opposite side, glancing at my watch, which I left behind before I left for my… appointment. “Do you want to talk?” He asks tenderly, reaching out to place his hand on my thigh but thinking better of it and retracting it away. 

I don’t want to talk. Not at all. But if I don’t then he might figure out the truth, realize what I’ve done. He’d be livid if he knew, not at all the tender caring Peeta he is right now, when he thinks someone has hurt me. 

I swallow the bile back down my throat, because lying to him always threatens to send whatever I’ve eaten swimming back up to my mouth, and keep my eyes focused on the threading of the comforter. “There was a Victor thing I had to attend, and I didn’t want to wake you, because you looked so peaceful. Besides you need the sleep. Anyways, I was there with Finnick and Johanna. And from across the way some fans were staring at me. That was normal though- they always do that when we got to these events. Well, when Finn and Jo left to talk to Plutarch Heavensbee, they came over. At first they were friendly, but then they started hounding me for an autograph and a photo and when I refused they became angry. Finnick pulled them off before they could do any real damage, but they still got some punches in.” 

The tears streaming in my eyes aren’t from the story, rather having to lie directly to his face about such a serious matter, but they make my story more authentic, so I let them fall. Peeta curses loudly after I’ve finished, staring at me with sad blue eyes. I can tell he wants to hug me, so I burrow tightly to his chest, forcing myself to remember that this is Peeta, and he will not harm me. 

I love him. Love him enough to ask for… that. He seems relieved that I’ve finally sought out his comfort, folding me in a warm embrace and resting his cheek against the top of my head. “I wish I could kill them, Katniss.” He mutters somberly into my hair, and I wind my arms tighter around him. 

If this is how he feels about some made up fans, I hope he never finds out the truth about what I’ve done. He would never forgive me; never forgive the people that allowed me to do it. Things would never be the same. It would change him. 

And I’d hate to be the reason my kind, gentle, loving Peeta became something he wasn’t.


	7. The Three Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a short chapter! I was suffering from some pretty severe writer's block when I wrote this one.

Over the next few days I learn three things I never expected to.

1.)           Things can get worse than the Hunger Games

2.)           People like a strong victor weak

3.)           I love Peeta too much.

Ever since my father’s death, I’ve known there was a way to love someone too much. To make the pain a million times worse than it could be. But with Peeta, stable and secure, I let my guard down. I should not have let my guard down. Because here I am, leaving a strange woman’s house in the dead of night, thinking not of what I just did, but rather how I’ll explain the angry slashes on my back to Peeta.

The woman had clearly been a Clove fan. They even had the same sick smile and raven colored hair. But most of all, they had a thing for knives. Finnick says there’s a salve for it, available in the penthouse. All I know is that there’s no way to get it without Peeta finding out that someone has managed to make shallow cuts all over my back, among other places.

When I arrive back at the training center, I’m not surprised to see Peeta waiting up for me. He always does. Every day he gets more and more beaten down, but I know there’s no way to convince him to sleep. Even tonight, the eve before individual training sessions, he’s standing dutifully by the elevator doors- my own personal watch dog. “Katniss!” He leaps up from the floor once I arrive, and I cringe, knowing my flimsy dress is doing nothing to protect my back.

I do my best to shift to the side, so he is unable to catch a glimpse of the festering cuts. As I shuffle over to the countertop, Peeta trailing worriedly alongside me, I see something small and silver on the surface. _To make the boy sleep- H._ “Oh Katniss I was so worried, but at least you’re back. I expected you to be gone for another few hours, considering these Victor Appearances always seem to last so long, and you never get back in before ten, but I’m glad you’re here. Maybe tonight we’ll actually get to sleep at a reasonable hour! You should really try and see if you can’t do these Meet&Greets during the day, baby. You just look so worn out.”

As he rambles, I open the container and take a tentative sniff. Instantly, I recognize the sickly sweet smell of sleep syrup. It’s wrong, I can’t drug Peeta. But I have another appointment in three hours and I _need_ the salve for my cuts. Suddenly I hear a gasp, and it’s only then that I realize I’ve turned around, exposing my red and bleeding back to him.

Gritting my teeth, I scoop a large spoon off the countertop and dash to the bedroom. My cuts ache horribly, but I force myself through it. Once in our room, Peeta stares at me confusedly. “Your back, Katniss… what the hell happened at that appearance? Isn’t there security? They should be killed Katniss, killed! I swear it.”

I take a large step forward, pressing my hands into his chest and pushing him forcefully onto the bed. His mouth falls open in shock, and in that moment I manage to shove a large spoonful of sleep syrup into his mouth, forcing his jaw closed with my hand. As the consciousness fades from his eyes and he collapses onto the bed, he looks at me with an emotion we’ve never shared before: betrayal.

But I know, deep inside, that no matter how wrong this is, it could be worse. I see the red envelope on the bedside table, sealed and waiting, and know that there are much worse things than the Hunger Games. Much much worse. I press a kiss to Peeta’s forehead, a single tear falling from my eye, and head to the main room to get the salve.

I have a long night ahead of me.


	8. The Sacrifice

                I don’t get to watch Peeta’s interview from the safety of the tribute center. Instead, I’m at some sickeningly wealthy man’s home, sitting on his couch, watching as my boy with the bread is forced to laugh and smile for the entertainment of the Capital. He looks so handsome in his dark flame-licked suit. Portia has left his hair a little messy, which I like. It reminds me of home, when he first wakes up in the morning with an amusing case of bed head.

                The man stalks into the room next to me, holding two sweet-smelling green drinks in his hand. I take one politely as he sits next to me. On screen, my Peeta smiles good naturedly at Caesar Flickerman. The two have an easy rapport, passing quick remarks back and forth. The audience laughs hysterically, and I can practically hear them taking money out of their pockets for Peeta.

                _“What can you tell us about your mentor?” Caesar grows solemn, looking Peeta directly in the eye. Peeta just smiles._

_“Haymitch and I are close as can be. I think our relationship has really blossomed over the course of this trip. I never knew men’s cologne could smell so fruity until he let me borrow some of his.” The audience guffaws as the camera pans over to Haymitch, who raises a drink to the boy from his place._

I can’t help but notice that my usual seat next to him is gone.

_Caesar quiets the crowd after a moment. “That was very touching,” He tells Peeta, “but I was referring to Katniss Everdeen, your ‘star crossed lover’.” The entire audience has gone silent. You could hear a pin drop in the back of the room._

I’m thankful the man I’m with is focused on the drink, because I _need_ to hear what he says next. I can do nothing but sit there holding my breath as Peeta takes a long, thoughtful pause.

 _“What is there to tell?” He asks, both quiet in voice and demeanor._ His eyes flicker towards the crowd and I know he’s looking for me. Always looking for me. But I’m not there. I try my best to suppress the guilt, the disgust I feel for myself. I’m doing this for him. _“She’s my best friend. My confidant. I don’t know what I would do without her. It’s impossible to describe my feelings for her. But I’ve loved her since I was five years old and I first heard her sing.” His time on screen was drawing to a close. It seemed as though he knew this._

 _“If I get out of these alive, I’m never leaving her side again. Because I love her with everything I am. If I survive, the first thing I’m going to do is marry her, Caesar.” The buzzer sounds loudly just as the crowd goes wild._ I feel tears starting to slip down my cheeks and wish I weren’t here. But this is where I have to be.

                The man switches the television off. “Can you believe all that?” He whispers to me. I refuse to look at him, taking another sip of my drink. “I know why you’re here. You need a real man. Not a weak little boy.” Angler unfurls deep in my gut. Peeta is anything but weak. He scored a ten in training. I’ve seen toss 100 pound bags of flour right over his shoulder. But this man doesn’t care. He’s living out a fantasy, and I have no choice but to indulge.

                The whole time, I think of Peeta. Only him. There’s no way he’ll ever forgive me for this.

                Peeta is in bed by the time I get home. I shut the door gently, so I don’t wake him, but by the time I’ve showered and slipped into bed it’s apparent that he was never asleep at all. The cool satin covers feel almost slimy against my skin as I shuffle next to him. He sighs quietly, but refuses to turn and face me. His body is tense when I try to wrap my arms around him. Rejection. It slices through me like a knife and everything inside me rebels against the feeling. I have never been rejected by Peeta.

                I can’t stop the tears then, because this is what it has finally come to. After everything we’ve been through, Peeta has finally seen me for what I am. He doesn’t want me anymore. Why should he? I’m officially damaged goods. Tainted by the hands of Capital men and women, always taking but never giving. Why should my sweet, giving Peeta want that when he deserves so much more? This is where my love has gotten him- a spot in the Hunger Games. How could he want me after that?

                Despite my best efforts I begin to sob, choking and sputtering loudly in the darkness. My entire body begins to tremble as I hug my knees to my chest. It’s then that I feel a shift in the bed and strong, warm arms encircling me. “Katniss,” he whispers to me gently, but his voice is broken. “Where were you today?” He presses his face into the back of my neck, and I can feel his tears against the sensitive skin there. Is this what we have become?

                I can’t answer him. If I do the truth will come spilling out, hurting myself and him in the process. This is possibly our last night together. I need him. Badly. Who knows if I’ll ever see him again after this? Turning, I wind my arms and legs around him, pressing my lips against his urgently.

                “Katniss,” he mumbles, but I refuse to stop. There isn’t anything in the world that could take my last night with Peeta, alive and safe, away from me. “I love you, but I don’t know if we should…”

                I know the fear he must be feeling. How much he questions everything about what’s to become of him. And I know that he doesn’t want to taint this act with his death. When we’ve done it before it’s been in times of happiness and awakening. Not sadness. My eyes are pleading when I look into his. “Please, Peeta. Please.”

                He doesn’t have to be told twice, pushing his mouth against mine with as much fervor as ever. “I love you,” I whisper as I melt into him.

                The next morning, I wake before Peeta. He sleeps soundly, the sunlight shining against his blonde curls and bare shoulders. I long to kiss his gently parted lips, full and soft, but know that each moment of sleep is precious to him. Today I could lose him, forever.

                But for now, he’s safe in bed, under my watchful gaze. So I just stare, and take in every ounce of him. Just in case I never get to again. I let my hand drift across the contours of his face and stomach, committing each patch of skin to memory. Down his torso and legs. Then I brush his bangs softly from his face. His arms reach out sleepily, before wrapping around me and pulling me against him. Even in his sleep, he holds me near.

                Gentle, silent tears begin to make their way down my cheeks and onto the pillow, but I refuse to let myself succumb to them. These are my last peaceful moments with him. I watch the sun rise, tangled in his arms.

                Little does he know, if he dies in there, I’ll die with him.

 _Little do you know_  
How I’m breaking while you fall asleep   
Little do you know   
I’m still haunted by the memories   
Little do you know   
I’m trying to pick myself up piece by piece   
Little do you know   
I need a little more time 

_Alex and Sierra- Little Do You Know_


End file.
